


The Hotshot Jockey From Pontiac Illinois

by Heavenly_Stellar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Anal Sex, Bars and Pubs, Bossy Dean, Bottom Dean, Boyfriend Dean, Dean in Panties, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Horse Racing, Horseback Riding, Hotel Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Jockey Castiel, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, One Shot, Panty Kink, Pink Panties, Protectiveness, Public Display of Affection, Singing, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Stellar/pseuds/Heavenly_Stellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas Novak takes place in the famous Kentucky Derby on May third, in Churchill Downs in Louisville. And he's having one hell of a panic attack... cue his boyfriend Dean, who makes sure that Cas' day is one he'll remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hotshot Jockey From Pontiac Illinois

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise HUGELY in advance for any mistakes in terms of the Kentucky Derby and horse racing. I have zero clues and experience in that field so please excuse me, if there are any mistakes and feel free to let me know. Thank you!
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

It was May third. 

Churchill Downs in Louisville, Kentucky was flourishing with life on that sunny morning. Emanating from the writhing crowds was a din of chatter mingled with laughter. The scenery is decorated with colorful flags. The smell of freshly mown grass, dirt, horses, hay and sweat blended together. It was a glorious combination laced with trepidation of the events of that day.

And Cas Novak, the young hotshot jockey from Pontiac Illinois, stood in a public bathroom stall close to puking his guts out. He clutches the edge of the toilet bowl, suede gloves chafing against his knuckles. Cas looks at his reflection in the water, feeling sweat dampen every inch of his body, his worn boots digging into his skin. His head is pounding, dizzying him and making his breathing shallow.

“Cas,” says a voice from outside the toilet stall, “come on, buddy, the race is starts in an hour! We gotta get you and your horse suited up.”

“No,” Cas moans out. “Leave me alone, Dean.”

With his reply, another round of a banging fist against the door comes about from his longtime boyfriend and best friend, Dean Winchester. Cas remembers the hope sparkling in Dean’s eyes, the encouraging kisses the taller man gave him during the setup of the race, and it makes him feel even more sick.

The race was _the_ _Kentucky Derby_. He’d been hauling his and Dean’s asses around the country, horse race after horse race along with his trusty steed: _Midnight Suede_ (Midnight, for short).

Cas had been preparing for a long time for this goddamned race and here he was: trembling, on the verge of tears and vomiting, with his boyfriend yelling at him.

“C’mon Cas!” Dean shouts, tone more exasperated than comforting. “Now’s not the time to get cold feet,”

Cas knows that it’s definitely not the time. He threads his fingers through his hair, his helmet lays discarded beside him. The back of his eyes ache and sting, his vision goes blurry as water builds up.

“Can’t,” Cas chokes out.

“What’s that?” Dean questions.

Cas clears his throat and says louder, “I can’t do it.” He hears his boyfriend inhaling sharply, and then the door rattles again as Dean raps it with his knuckles.

 “Don't be a stupid son of a bitch! Of course you can do it! Get your ass out here!”

Okay, yeah, Dean’s getting a little angry. Cas feels his throat tighten, and for a moment he believes that it’s guilt, until his body crumples forwards and— hot and burning— he empties his breakfast down the toilet. He hacks out a wet cough, trying to tune out the concerned calls from Dean and the impetuous door-knockings.

“Cas, baby, you okay? Open the door,” Dean calls him, voice becoming frantic.

The post-vomit lets a rush of relief course through him, Cas spits into the toilet, and then stands. His knees wobble a little as he reaches over to press the lever to flush the toilet.

“Let me in, Cas,” Dean’s tone is at first soft, then breaks off into: “or I’m gonna break down this fucking door!"

“I’m coming!” Cas yelps, swoops down to pick up his helmet and, with fumbling hands opens the toilet door.

Dean’s worried face splits into a wide grin, dimples forming and eyes lighting up. Cas smiles weakly back at him.

“That’s my boy,” Cas’ boyfriend slaps him hard on the shoulder, expression warm with fondness.

Cas just nods, mouth tasting sour and bitter. He passes his helmet to Dean and strides toward the sink. He turns on the tap, leans down and rinses out his mouth. Water almost travels up his nose as he startles when Dean’s warm hand slides up the curve of his spine.

“Good thing for the private toilets for racers, huh?” Dean chuckles lightly, rubbing circles into Cas’ back.

Cas straightens, using the back of his soft leather gloves to dry the water cascading from his lips. His blue eyes dart up, looking into the mirror above the sink. The glass is speckled with aged mildew. Cas sees Dean and his reflection in there. Dean winks at him, making him smile. He turns around.

“I see you’ve changed into your suit,” he says, fingers gliding along the silk of the pale blue tie Dean wears. “You look good.”

“Yeah, and it’s an oven in here,” Dean itches at his collar, but he has a pleased smile plastered on to his face.

“What happened to your green tie?” Cas asks, straightening the staircase-folded white handkerchief in Dean’s chest pocket. With an affectionate smile, Cas tilts his head at the crawling flush that travels from Dean’s throat to his cheekbones.

“I changed it so it’d match your colours,” Dean mumbles, forefinger and thumb pinching at Cas’ jacket.

“Oh,” Cas makes a surprised noise.

Dean grows redder. “Stupid, really.”

“No, no. I like it,” Cas insists. He sighs shakily. “I just… I hope, with all my heart, that I don’t fail you today, Dean.”

“You never have and never will, Cas,” the jockey lets his boyfriend pull their bodies together. Cas rests the back of his head in the crook of Dean’s neck.

 “It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says, one hand carding through Cas’ dark hair. “Everyone gets nervous. It’s the Kentucky fucking Derby after all.”

Cas’ nose is pressed lightly against the slightly taller man’s shoulder; he takes the opportunity to breathe in Dean’s scent. _Home_ , he thinks. Cas sighs in content as Dean’s arm snake around him, enclosing and holding him tight. One of Cas’ hands rest on Dean’s hips, thumb circling and kneading into the flesh there. His other hand clutches his helmet, a reminder of what’s to come.

 Dean’s voice is a little choked when he says, “No matter what, we’ll be winners, okay?”

 “Of course,” Cas pulls his head back and presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. He feels Dean’s body shudder lightly, and he smiles against those full lips.

 Dean releases Cas and grabs his hand and drags the both of them from out of the bathroom.

 “Okay! Enough chick-flick moments!” Dean shouts, bubbly with sudden nervous energy. “Let’s get you ready to win this mother!”

 

 ***

 

It’s a wonder Cas hasn’t fainted yet as he sits atop of Midnight, popping his knuckles. Apprehension eats at him from the inside like something cancerous. Churchill Downs is a cacophony of the cheering crowds in the grandstand, brass music and warbling loudspeakers. The horse and his rider are in the starting stalls, enclosed in copper blue metal frames. The other racers chat amongst their neighbours, at ease, laughing and teasing one another playfully. Cas is the newbie here.

 Cas rubs the side of Midnight’s neck, psyching himself for what’s about to come. “We can do this,” he says under his breath.

 He realizes that, really, he’s comforting himself rather than the horse. Midnight seems to think so too, as he snorts and his front right hoof stomps and cuts into the soft ground, impatient. Unlike Cas, Midnight is thrilled to be here.

 “Ready yourselves, riders and horses!” A voice cuts over the general din, startling Cas. Desperately, he eyes the enthusiastic crowd, searching for Dean. Cas can’t see Dean in the crowd; it was a futile attempt anyways. They’d given each other a frantic kiss goodbye before being torn apart by the race.

 He wishes that Dean were near him, shouting encouragement.

 Cas wiggles in the seat of the saddle, breeches tightening around his legs. He shoves his boots further in the stirrups.

 Then the bells ring. The gates swing open with a thunderous clatter.

 And Cas and Midnight are flying along the track.

 The constant drumming of thundering hoof beats along with the screams of the wild crowd are enough to deafen Cas. Unlike the majority of the jockey’s here, Cas co-owns Midnight with the trainer, Robert Singer. He is Dean’s adoptive father. He had been the one to introduce the two of them, years ago.

 Cas has ridden Midnight countless times over the years, and the power of the beast still leaves him in shock.

 With the wind whistling in his ears, with his hands forming balls around the reigns, Cas loses himself in the feeling.

 Suddenly with a jolt, Cas remembers Bobby and Dean’s advice from before the race and he eases a little, not wanting Midnight to burn out quickly. His goggles become increasingly dotted with mud.

 They’re halfway through the first straight stretch when Cas spurs Midnight onwards, and the horse hurtles forward, determined.

 All of nervousness disappears and the world, the crowd, the other riders seem to melt away. His vision shrinks to just Midnight and the racetrack.

 Midnight gallops, never missing a step.

 It’s only when they approach the third hard curve of the track that Cas realizes that he’s in the lead. But Midnight and Cas keep on riding just as hard, as the pack is still on their heels, spraying dirt and yelling.

 Cas lifts his head up, sees the finish line, and his heart threatens to jump up and out through his throat.

 Midnight must feel Cas freezing up, because his gait hiccups suddenly.

 They fall behind two riders who shoot forward, seizing the opportunity to take over.

 Midnight crosses the line at third place.

 

 ***

 

The aftermath of the race was almost just as exhausting.

  _Marmaduke_ was the winning horse, one of Bobby’s horses, and the jockey was a scrawny guy named Garth. Bobby had briefly met up with Cas, helping him dismount and patting him on the shoulder. A rare smile had brightened his usual grizzled and crabby exterior. Who wouldn’t be happy after getting a first and third place in the Kentucky Derby? Garth and Marmaduke had been led away to the winner’s circle, as is tradition. There, they were given the trophy and the Garland of Roses.

 The stable hands had taken Midnight away, leaving Cas in a throng of people. Cas had apologized to the horse, promising to win next time, and gave it a fond pet on the nose. Midnight whinnied softly in reply. The lucky horse was led to the paddock area to escape the boisterous people, and there awaited special treatments of extra food and rest.

 Honestly, Cas would have liked to trade places as he worked his way through the crowds, searching for Dean.

 He found himself blinking constantly as bright camera lights were dotting his vision. His helmet, goggles _and_ gloves got lost somewhere along the way.

 His wrist aches from shaking hands with every second person, until the point he let whoever thrusts their hand into his do all the work. They didn’t seem to mind, shouting praises and grinning like Cheshire cats. More than he’d like, Cas was surrounded by ladies, wearing dresses ranging from all colours of the rainbow. He let them kiss his cheek and grip on to his forearm, feeling a little intimidated by it all.

“Cas!” Dean’s voice rings clear even amongst the overwhelming noise. “Cas, baby! Over here!”

The crowd parts as Dean propels himself forward, eyes glowing and face straining under a large grin. Cas throws himself at Dean, arms wrapping around the back of his neck. He feels his boyfriend’s body vibrate with a laugh.

In the warmth of Dean’s embrace the racket surrounding them seems to diminish. Cas looses track of time and feels oblivious to the world as their bodies meld together. Dean’s arms tighten till the point he actually worries if his ribs can withstand the pressure. Then his boyfriend lets go, still laughing, eyes a little watery and red.

“Third place, Cas, you mad son of a bitch!” Dean cries out, jumping up and down, ecstatic. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you!” Cas shouts over the hubbub. Dean hugs him tight again, then, the two of them pull away just enough to let their foreheads to touch.

“Proud of you,” Dean says, and then tugs Cas’ head forward into a much-needed kiss. When they break apart for air, Dean’s cheeks are flushed pink, lips swollen. Cas feels an undeniable rise of desire and love in his chest, he worries he might explode.

 Dean tugs on Cas’ hand. “Let’s grab some drinks!”

 “Oh, but, what about the prizes? Has Bobby gotten-” Cas suddenly worries.

 Dean silences him with a wave of his hand. “It’s sorted out, Cas, we meet up with Bobby back at the racehorse stables in Sioux Falls. Since he’s so busy with Garth and Marmaduke.”

 “Of course,” Cas sighs. He runs a hair through his dark hair, making it even more bedraggled-looking.

 Dean tilts Cas’ face up with a gentle nudge of his knuckle to the jockey’s chin. “You worry too much.”

 Cas lets out a low chuckle. “I just want to make sure everyone has their fair share. Including you, Dean, I never would have gotten here without you.”

 “I know,” Dean winks.

*** 

 

Five Mint Juleps and three Grey Goose Oaks Lily vodkas later, in true Kentucky Derby tradition, Cas sits at the bar in an antique establishment, laughing uncontrollably at his boyfriend. His eyes are alight, pretty green gems that glow in the low golden light.

 “Sit down, boy!” A stranger calls out, no anger in his voice, but merriment.

 “Come on, you know you want to!” Dean cries out to everyone. His balance falters for a moment, his drink jumps and spills over the edges of his glass. Cas dodges most of it.

 Dean stands on his barstool attempting in conducting his fellow patrons in a rendition of the song _My Old Kentucky Home_ , in a very intoxicated state. Although Cas had kept an eye on how many drinks they had between them and with Dean’s drinks, had indeed, lost count in the mid twenties.

 “Do it for my Cas, here,” Dean leans over and slaps Cas on the shoulder. Cas has to hold on to the pant leg of Dean’s slacks to steady him. He smiles apologetically at the dozens of sets of eyes that stare at the two of them.

 “He’s a jockey, y’know, he came third place!” Dean continues. “One verse at least!”

 There’s a few in the crowd who agree, albeit grudgingly. Dean beams down at them, a boyish grin revealing pearly whites and dimples.

 “ _The sun shines bright,_ ” a few sing half-heartedly.

 Then from behind them, making Cas jump off his seat a few feet, comes the trill of a violin strings. Both Cas and Dean turn around to see the barman, Benny, says the nametag, with the instrument tucked under his chin. He smiles at them and nods encouragingly.

 “Okay, let’s start again, folks!” Benny calls out, position his bow over the strings.

 This time, Cas is pretty sure that about three-quarters of the customers actually join in. It’s a glorious melting pot of singing voices ranging from rich baritones to pretty sopranos. Dean is the loudest of them all, surprisingly in tune, and belting it out in a voice so confident and full of passion.

 “ _The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home_ ,”

Dean manages to get Cas to stand up on his chair. There are a few cheers that ring out when he does so.  

“ _Tis summer, the people are gay_ ,”

Dean holds Cas’ hand; winking at him, pink tongue momentarily caught between his front teeth. Cas is a little in shock, feeling a flush crawl its way up the back of his neck, he grips Dean’s hand so tight, it actually makes the other man wince.  
  
“ _The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in bloom,”_  
  
“While the birds make music all the day,”

Spurred by his boyfriend’s energy and voice, Cas joins in the singing. A quiet mumble, but there all the same.  
  
“The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,”  
  
“All merry, all happy and bright,”  
  
“By 'n by hard times come a-knocking at the door,”  
  
“Then my old Kentucky home good night!”

The establishment tremors with life as the ending of the verse come together in an exquisite flourish of Benny’s bow and violin. Dean is the first to clap, bringing on a few ‘hallelujah’s and ‘encore’s from the crowd.

The green-eyed man sways a little. Through the haziness of his blitzed condition, Dean decides it wise to return his rear to the seat. His aim is utterly incorrect, and the man ended up setting his behind on the top surface of the bar. Unable to resist, Cas combs his fingers through the short spikes of brown hair. Dean smiles up at him enticingly, tongue peeking out to roll over his plump lips. The jockey leans down for a quick kiss, loving every second of the hurried clash of teeth and tongue.

Somebody in the crowd wolf whistles, interrupting their too short make-out session. Cas jumps down and lands easily on his feet, one hand on the curve of Dean’s shoulder. He pinches Dean’s half-empty glass from his boyfriend’s lax hand and raises it the herd of people.

“To Dean!” Cas shouts in the heat of the moment.

“DEAN!” They holler back.

Dean mock-bows from his perch on the bar, giggling all bubbly-like, making Cas’ stomach muscles tighten in all the good ways. The jockey downs the mint julep; his throat burns, tingling, at the minty sweetness. He inhales sharply once the liquor travels past his esophagus.

By then the racket of the pub has died down and the majority of people have returned to their business. Cas sits back down, places the glass down on the counter and nods at the bartender. Benny smiles easily back at him, putting a sleek violin back into its case. To Cas’ right, Dean is talking animatedly with the patrons, green eyes unfocused, hands waving about overzealously.

Cas, thoughts a little foggy from under the influence, reaches over and tugs the pale blue silk of Dean’s tie. He forces Dean to face him.

“May we convene somewhere quieter?” Cas asks, eyebrow arching.

“Sure,” Dean slurs, a mellow expression gracing his features. He slips off of the counter so quickly that his whole body slowly dips down, apparently unaccustomed to the world of standing. Dean’s leather shoes clack against the varnished floors as he struggles to get his footing.

 “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely-dootley,” replies his boyfriend.

 Cas grabs a hold of Dean’s hand, a little concerned, and hauls him through the pub. There are shoulders bumping, toes stubbing and a few ‘watch where you’re going’s and ‘excuse me’s. Dean slouches against Cas’ side, nose bumping against the stuttering pulse at the dark-haired man’s throat.

 “Dean!” A woman’s voice, something sounding like a puppy personified, yips from their left.

 “Charlie,” Dean blinks slowly. “Hey!” He drops Cas’ hand and envelops a slight redheaded woman in a tight bear hug, her feet lifting off of the ground momentarily.

 “Oh, whoa, okay!” Charlie pats Dean’s back, grimacing a little. Her eyes meet Cas’ and with the difficulty of trapped in Dean’s thick muscled arms, waves to the best of her ability.

 “Hi Castiel,” she laughs; her cheeks are dusted with pink, tipsy and happy. “Congrats for third place.”

 “Thank you Charlie,” he says warmly. “How are you?”

 “Um,” Charlie squeaks, “well at the moment my lungs are being crushed- so…. Pretty awesome, yeah!”

 Dean releases her from his rib-cracking embrace, a genuine grin plastered on to his face. He plants a noisy, wet kiss to her cheek, making Cas wince with sympathy.

 “Ew,” Charlie rubs savagely at her face, nose crinkling. “Slobber.”

 Cas shakes his head as he fondly watches on in amusement at the way Dean’s head tips back as he laughs at Charlie. She fixes the fascinator that sits atop her crown of red hair. Dean plays with the curly strips of pink ribbon that protrude from it, speaking incoherently.

 “It’s way too big for my head,” Charlie sighs, apparently having understood what the hell Dean had said.

 “Me likey,” Dean hiccups, poking at the small flowers situated on the headband. Cas reels Dean back, arms looping around his middle, holding him back from further unintentionally molesting his best friend.

 “Sorry Charlie, he’s drunk out of his mind,” Cas apologizes. He pats Dean’s chest affectionately, kissing him lightly on the throat. “I can’t take him anywhere.”

 Charlie giggles. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse at comic-con.” She glances behind Cas’ head and her eyes go round.

 “What is it?” Dean asks.

 “I gotta go!” She tugs off the fascinator headband and places it loosely atop of Dean’s head. Charlie wraps an arm around the both of them. Cas slings his arm over her shoulder, Dean squeezes her tightly around the waist and the three of them form an awkward group hug.

 She peels herself away, turns, but not before holding up a hand, fingers’ forming into what Cas now understands is a Vulcan reference from Star Trek.

 “Peace out, bitches,” Charlie chirps before dashing off, red hair fanning out, whipping both Cas and Dean in the face.

 “Goodbye,” Cas waves.

 “Bye,” Dean says distractedly. He takes the fascinator off of his head and looks at it like it’s an object from outer space.

“Come on, Dean, let’s go to the hotel,” Cas leads him out of the pub and into the street. Intermittently, Cas sends Dean glances over his shoulder. Eyes assessing. Silently asking him if he’s okay. Dean squeezes his boyfriend’s palm in reply, an irresistible smile forcing its way on to his face.

 “You look beat, Cas,” Dean says suddenly. “Wanna get taxi?”

 “No, it’s okay,” Cas smiles, that’s his Dean, always taking care of others before himself. “We can walk, if you’d like.”

 “Y-Yeah,” Dean slurs, sliding the headband back onto his head. “I don’t like taxis.”

 Cas chuckles, shaking his head at the sight of his boyfriend with the dark pink— almost red— band nestled in the light brown hair. Cas draws in, slides an arm around the back of Dean’s waist. His other hand idly plays with the pink ribbons. Dean ducks his head down, allowing Cas access.

 “Suits you,” Cas whispers huskily into his ear, lips brushing against the cold skin of Dean’s earlobe.

 Dean swallows hard, wide green eyes blinking dumbly. He shakes himself, loosening the baby blue tie around his neck, a wide grin coming over his face.

 “Yeah?” Dean’s shoulders straighten out and he pulls a thoughtful expression. His legs gradually become a sluggish, walking at a snail’s pace. Dean’s sparkling green gaze slowly drags over Cas’ body. Dean’s lips and tongue suddenly attack the side of Cas’ throat. Cas makes a noise of surprise, which his hand quickly muffles, as the few people on the street glance their way.

 “We’re almost at the hotel,” Cas says, voice breaking, he reluctantly pushes his boyfriend away. He tries to pick up the pace.

 “Baby, need you now,” Dean stumbles after him, whining. “Now,” he drags out the word like a toddler would. Cas wouldn’t be surprised if Dean were to start stamping his foot indignantly.

“I can see the building from here, Dean, come on,” Cas urges, tugging on Dean’s arm, feeling the blood rush to his face and further south as he notices the gradually growing bulge at Dean’s crotch. Dean trudges alongside Cas, swaying side to side drunkenly.

Suddenly appealing to Dean’s boyish personality and foggy consciousness, Cas yells out, and later he blames the fact that he too was mildly drunk,

“Race you!”

Then he bolts down the street, with Dean on his heels.

 

***

 

Lungs desperate for air, Cas rests his hands on his knees as he catches his breath, waiting for Dean. In his chest, his heart threatens to jump out, pounding and pumping.

 “Are you all right, sir?” The concerned doorman asks, slowly approaching him.

 Cas waves him away. “Y-Yes,” he pants. “Sorry, yes, I am fine.”

 Then a breathless, laughing Dean Winchester collides with his body with a croon of, “I WIN!”

 “I don’t think that classifies, you were at least ten seconds behind,” Cas replies, still gasping for air, once he’s re-gained his footing.

 Now Dean is the one, bent over, wheezing, looking like he may collapse from the exertion. The fascinator that Charlie had given Dean was askew, new crinkles and folds that had creased themselves in his suit. Even though the distance of the spontaneous running race was perhaps only about thirty feet long. Cas rubs circles into Dean’s back soothingly.

 “I fell over,” Dean puffs out.

 “Oh,” Cas giggles, and then scowls, because the sound is quite foreign to him.

 Dean looks up too, sweat beading at his forehead, lips parted as they draw in deep breaths. Cas stares back feeling a little uncomfortable with his sweat dampened layers of jockey clothing but warm inside. He takes the time to just admire the sight of Dean, feeling as if he could combust any moment with the intensity of emotions for him.

 Almost blindly, Dean’s hand flings out and catches the edge of Cas’ breeches. “Cas, if we don’t make it to the bed in like ten seconds, I think I might pass out.”

 Cas drags the both of them through the threshold of the front door of the building. Avoiding the wide-eyed look from the doorman and the sly grin from the receptionist, Cas and Dean stumble along the polished tiles to the elevator. Dean presses the button so many times that Cas is sure that it counts as vandalism. Cas holds Dean’s hand, telling him to stop it half-heartedly.

 Once the doors ding and slide open, Dean tows Cas behind him as they march into the cab of the elevator. The green-eyed man grips onto the gold railing outlining the four walls. He jabs at their floor number.

 “Evening,” Cas says politely to the other occupants as the doors slide close. As he and Dean move into one corner of the elevator, Cas can feel the lift of the compartment in the soles of his feet and gets a flip-flop feeling in his stomach.

 One of the others in the elevator, an elderly woman, questions, “Are you a jockey?” Her old eyes look at him up and down.

 “Yes-” Cas breaks off with a surprised squeak as a very eager hand— cool from the nighttime air— sneaks into the back of his breeches. “Um, yes, ma’am.”

 He squeezes himself further into his corner of the elevator, swallowing hard, eyes intently searching Dean’s face. Silently pleading him to stop. Dean raises an eyebrow and smirks as if to say ‘make me’.

 “Which one was your horse?” The old lady implores Cas, oblivious to the fact that Dean’s hand was kneading the flesh of the jockey’s ass.

 “Midnight Suede,” Cas replies, squirming uncomfortably.

 “Oh, the one that came third,” the other occupant, a weathered old man nods.

 “Yes, sir,” Cas says through clenched teeth as Dean’s fingers suddenly pinch him. Dean rests his head in the crook of Cas’ shoulders, blinking up at him innocently.

 “And who are you?” The old man grunts, gesturing to Dean, eyes narrowing.

 “His man,” Dean’s other hand— not the one that’s fondling Cas’ privates— comes up to playfully slap at Cas’ chest.

 “Oh,” The old man pulls a sneer of disgust and Cas feels a flash of irritation ignite deep in his chest. He understood everyone had their own opinions, but the least they could do, is to keep their opinions to themselves on such a subject.

“That’s lovely,” The elderly woman pipes up, voice warm. “How long have you two been together?”

“Forever,” Dean replies dopily. He finally removes his hand from the back Cas’ trousers.

 Smiling at him, the woman says, “That’s very nice, dear.”

 “Heck yeah it’s very nice,” Dean presses a sloppy kiss to Cas’ lips, humming with content. He brackets the sides of Cas’ face, trapping him in the corner.

 “Oh, my,” Cas hears the older woman laugh.

 Cas reciprocates the lingering kiss. In revenge of earlier, being as discrete as possible, he palms the swell in the other man’s pants. Dean pulls back, biting back a moan with his legs almost giving way. Cas kisses Dean again sweetly. When he does, he doesn’t close his eyes. Cas revels in and loves they way how he can see his boyfriend’s pupils enlarging, blotting out the grassy-green colour that is so uniquely Dean.

 “Hey!” The old man breaks them out of their entrancement of each other with his croaky voice. “This is a public area, you queers.”

 The expression on Dean’s face changed dramatically, he craned his head around, glaring at the old man. His top lip curled, pretty mouth forming an intimidating snarl. Cas opened his mouth to speak, to placate Dean, and then apologize to the old man. He’d really rather not have Dean tackling some old fart in a small confined area.

 But the elderly woman beat Cas to it. “Sweetheart,” she swatted the old man on the arm, “there’s no need for that.”

 “It’s unnatural, Betty,” the man insisted with a light growl. The wrinkles on his weathered face deepened, distaste plain on his features.

 “Tom!” Betty gasped.

 Dean’s glare intensifies by a few million degrees. “How dare you, you son of a-”

 “Dean,” Cas caught his boyfriend just in time, grabbing a handful of Dean’s crinkled suit jacket. “Leave it.”

 Dean relaxes minutely but he’s still is wounded up as tight as a coil. Looking around quickly, Cas finds the button board and jabs the closest floor that the elevator approaches.

 “I’m sorry boys,” she too glares at her husband. “What my husband is saying is not right.”

 “But it is true Betty!” The old man’s eyes flick away from his wife to look defiantly up into Deans’ face. “You two are filthy faggots.”

 Dean begins to yowl like an angry cat and both of Cas’ arms wrap around him. “Stop it, Dean!”

 “Let me at him!” Dean demands, a whirlwind of anger. “Cas!” His hands wave about uselessly as he attempts to wriggle out of Cas’ grip.

 Cas knows that if Dean were sober right now that he definitely would not have been able to hold him back this way. Then again, if Dean were sober, maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

 The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open with a cheery _ding_.

 “Come on,” Cas pulls them both out of the elevator, walking backwards. Dean struggles against him, though he follows Cas obligingly.

 “I’m very disappointed in you, Tom,” Betty’s voice is shrill as the doors go to separate the two couples.

 “HAH!” Dean’s foot causes the doors to spring open again. “Looks like someone isn’t getting any tonight! Unlike me, you asshole!”

 “Dean!” Cas gasps and yanks him backwards so hard that he loses his footing. They end up toppling over, Dean landing heavily on top of Cas, hitting the floor with a resounding thump. In a blind rage Dean half-tramples Cas as he scrambles to his feet and proceeds to pound his fists against the elevator doors. Winded, the jockey lies on the ground with his eyes closed, catching his breath and calming the queasiness in his stomach.

 “FUCKING ASSHOLE! Son of a bitch doesn’t know-” Dean babbles uncontrollably. “Doesn’t know-” he breaks off with a choked noise. Cas opens his eyes to see Dean sink to the floor, defeated.

 “Dean,” Cas says, breathless from the fall, “hey, it’s okay.” Scooting across the tiled floor, he reaches Dean and places a hand on his shoulder.

 “Not okay, Cas,” Dean says, voice muffled from his hands that cover his face. “So not okay.” Cas curls his arm around Dean’s waist, concerned but also a little exasperated.

 “Next time, we really ought to keep count of how many drinks you consume,” Cas says softly into Dean’s ear and then kisses his boyfriend along his strong jaw line. He can taste the saltiness of tears.

 “Um, Dean, are you crying?” Cas suddenly feels awkward.

 Dean replies with a series of unintelligible noises and sniffles. Cas thinks he hears an “I’m drunk, leave me alone” somewhere in there. He makes a soothing noise, squeezing Dean’s side comfortingly and with his other hand, rubs circles into his boyfriend’s tummy.

 “It’s all right,” he tells Dean. “No matter what some people will say, I’ll still love you.”

 Dean rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, green eyes tinged with red and shiny with liquid. “Y-yeah Cas, me too, buddy.”

 “Good,” Cas gets to his feet, muscles groaning and bones popping. He brushes himself off, reaches over and straightens that fascinator that had managed to stay attached to Dean’s crown all this time.

 He holds out a hand to Dean. “Now lets go back to the room and have sex.”

 That brings out one of Cas’ favourite smiles that Dean has, top row of teeth showing and cheeks dimpling. The sadness bleeding out of his eyes, Dean slaps his hand into Cas’ and with their spirits lifted, manage to get themselves to their hotel room.

 

***

 

When they finally get to the room— after too many sets of stairs— a feeling of euphoria rips through Cas and a buried primal instinct breaks free. By the time the door is closes and locked, Dean’s lost one shoe and his jacket and Cas is completely shirtless.

 “Off,” Cas paws at Dean’s shirt and his hands tremble uncontrollably with need. It feels like it takes him a minute to undo one button.

Dean nips at Cas’ bottom lip, hurriedly forcing his tongue into the other man’s mouth. His hands work furiously at Cas’ pants.

Cas ends up ripping most of the buttons off Dean’s shirt. Cas’ hands meet the flushed skin of Dean’s chest and his fingers play with his boyfriend’s nipples, ghosting over them teasingly.

 “Cas,” Dean lets out a broken groan, mouth breaking away from Cas’ and neck tilting back. Cas’ mouth makes a journey, from sucking on Dean’s collarbone to striping a wet trail at the bared neck.

In the privacy of the dark room, lust-filled moans fill the silence along with huffs of breath. They fumble around the room, slamming into walls and cupboards, rocking their hips against each other on any flat surface.

By the time they find the bed, Cas is reduced to just his underwear and Dean’s lost his belt but is still in his dress pants and that ridiculous fascinator. A pillow goes flying as Cas shoves Dean on to his back, the head of the bed bangs against the wall.

Cas stares at Dean. Surrounded by deep cherry red sheets, matching the roses that are attached the headband, clothed legs bowed, pants tented, sheen of sweat slicking his heaving chest… Just looking perfect and beautiful to Cas.

“You gonna just stand there, baby?” Dean asks, a devious smirk curving his lips. “Cause’ I can fuck myself if you’re too busy,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’m just taking my time,” Cas kneels at the end of the bed, knees sinking into the soft mattress.

 Dean bent legs fall open almost lazily as Cas settles in between them. Cas hums as his hips roll upwards into Dean’s hardness. Dean’s hand goes up, reaching for the fascinator. Cas catches his wrist and pins it to the mattress.

 “No, I like it,” Cas says.

 Dean nods, then bucks against him, hand coming free and fingers carding through Cas’ dark hair. As they kiss, Cas’ hand slides in between them, finding Dean’s zipper. He pulls it down in one smooth movement. His fingers brush against something foreign, something… silk-like? His breath hitches, body freezing, the kiss stops abruptly and he looks down.

  _Pink_ , is the first thought that came to Cas.

With wide eyes, he looks back up at Dean. Bottom lip caught in his teeth, a deep flush works its way from Dean’s chest all the way to the tips of his ears.

 “Uh,” Dean clears his throat. Dean’s hands rest on Castiel’s shoulders, blunt fingernails digging into the flesh. Dean doesn’t consciously seem to know that he’s doing it.

 “ _Panties_?” Cas murmurs, voice dropping low, a bolt of heat swamps him and momentarily he forgets to breathe.

 “What do you think?” Dean asks smoothly, though Cas can see through the charade of self-confidence.

 Cas runs the pads of his fingertips along the hot pink satin material, across the hemline that is lined with black lace. He’s transfixed at the way the fabric shifts as Dean’s cock perks up in interest at his touch.

 “I love it,” Cas whispers huskily. “I love _you_.”

 “Me too,” Dean replies softly.

 Then he surges up to capture Dean’s lips, open-mouthed and hungry. Dean tastes poisonously sweet and minty from the juleps he’d been drinking earlier. When they break apart for air, Cas leans back on to his haunches and pulling Dean’s pants along with him. Dean lifts his hips up, Cas getting a face full of his panty-clad crotch as the pants come free.

 Dean sits up, slides a hand into Cas’ underwear, tugging free the flushed and blood-filled cock. He pumps it once, twice.

 “Dean,” Cas grunts, shucking off his underwear to join Dean’s pants. He ends up in Dean’s lap, the crease of his naked ass mounted on Dean’s hard-on. Saliva fills his mouth as he feels the glossy material. His hips move back and forth experimentally.

 “Oh, no you don’t,” Dean suddenly rams into Cas so forcefully that it causes him to fall flat on his back.

Cas lets out a yelp of surprise. His head snaps backwards, dipping over the end of the mattress. He cranes his neck up to where Dean is straddled on his thighs. Cas arches a curious eyebrow at Dean, the pressure in his chest swallowing his ability to speak.

 Dean looks back at him, vibrant green eyes aglow. “You’ve done enough riding for one day,” he says slyly, words slurring a little.

 Cas shivers as Dean’s hands glide smoothly over his lower abdomen, fingers brushing against his curled and leaking penis.

 Dean leans in close, lips an inch away and winks. “My turn.”

 Cas releases a shaky breath, trembling everywhere, and says in a wrecked voice, “Anything you wish.”

 Dean’s fingers comb and lace through Cas’ hair and gives him a searing kiss, keening noises in the back of his throat. From this position, the blood rushes to Cas’ head, dizzying him until he can’t stand it. He gathers his waning strength and gives Dean a hard shove.

 “ _Oh_!” Dean cries out in surprise.

 He’s flopped on to his back, head hitting the pillows, headband going even more crooked. Cas sways as he struggles to sit up, then on all fours, crawls over to Dean. Head ducked down, his lips press harsh kisses to Dean’s tummy tongue occasionally flicking out, teeth nipping. He goes a little lower and mouths Dean’s prominent, wet, bulge in the constricting pink fabric.

 “C-Cas!” Dean chokes out, spreading his legs wider. He suddenly blurts out in a rush, “Jesus Christ, ‘M not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that!”

 “Then _do_ something about it, Dean,” Cas says huskily.

 His boyfriend manhandles him forward until his chest is flush with his and rolls them over. Reacting to the sudden weight resting against his cock, Cas mindlessly thrusts upwards, moaning brokenly.

 Dean suddenly leaves the bed, Cas making a frustrated whining noise. Dean grins over his shoulder at his lover. “Sit up.” Dean orders. “I’ll be back.”

 Cas obeys, sliding back until his body is compressed adjacent to the bed’s headboard and a shudder runs through him at the feel of the cold bars. Dean returns quickly, holding a bottle of lubricant and a condom packet. Cas practically rips the packet from his boyfriend’s hand, earning a chuckle from Dean and places it beside him.

 Dean kneels, legs extending both sides of Cas’ thighs and pushes his panties down. His lips part as he exhales a relief-filled sigh as his hard and flush cock springs free.

 “Prep me?” Dean pushes the bottle of lube into Cas’ hand, breathless.

 Cas’ now slicked fingers work into Dean, causing Dean’s hands wrap around the horizontal bars of the headboard. Dean pushes himself down onto Cas’ digits, eyes screwing shut, cheeks flushed and mouth open.

 “You’re beautiful,” Cas murmurs suddenly. Dean’s eyes fly open, and Cas inclines his head toward Dean so their lips meet in a chaste kiss. After, Dean’s head ducks down quickly, a small smile curving his lips. One of Cas’ fingers curl inside of Dean and scrapes against that sweet spot he knows so well.

" _Son-of-a-bitch_!” Dean shouts out, almost incoherently, head thrown backwards.

 Over their many years together, Cas has learned to multitask. While Dean hovers down from cloud nine Cas takes the condom packet with his free hand, tears it open with his teeth. Dean’s alert enough by now and helps roll it over Cas’ erect penis. Cas eases his fingers out of Dean.

 “Hurry it up, Cas!” Dean hisses, hand squeezing his own length.

 “I don’t want to-” Cas breaks off with sharp gasp as Dean lowers himself on to Cas’ cock until he’s fully seated. Once comfortable, Dean fixes the fascinator nestled in his hair— a little wonky, ribbons and flowers are little crushed— but attached. Cas twirls a finger around the pink panties, twisting the material, taut and stretched between Dean’s parted thighs.

“They got a lot of elastic,” Dean explains with a slightly manic laugh.

“Ready to move?” Cas prompts.

“Y-Yes!” Dean replies already jerking his hips eagerly.

Dean wraps his arms around the back of Cas’ neck, holding on tight, his leaking cock pressed between their sweating bodies. Cas thrusts his hips up in quick succession while Dean bounces up and down in synchronization to the rhythm.

“Cas,” Dean moans, fingers clenching in the dark hair at the back of his lover’s head.

 Cas’ hands latch on to Dean’s hip, trying to work with Dean’s frantic movements. He feels Dean’s thighs grow increasingly taut. Dean chants Cas’ name as his drives his pelvis up and down. Every time, the air punches out of Cas’ lungs. Shudders of pleasure stutter his thrusts as Dean clenches around his cock.

 “Oh God— _yes_ —Dean!” Cas cries out.

 His knees bend with the building pressure, pushing Dean closer until their chests are flush. Cas’ toes curl and his blunt nails scraping along Dean’s thighs.

“Fuck-! Ngh! Cas!” Dean grunts, hands clamping on to Cas’ shoulders.

Vision going white, Cas comes, spilling into the condom and thrusting sloppily up into Dean. Dean slams himself down on Cas’ cock over and over again, causing the whole bed to tremor and bang against the wall until he reaches his release with a shout.

 “Cas,” Dean whimpers into the crook of Cas’ neck. “Cas.”

 “I’m here, Dean,” Cas gently slides out of Dean, untangling their limbs.

 Bones reduced to jelly; Dean is pliant to Cas’ hands guiding him to lie down, and his eyes flutter closed. Cas pulls of the condom off his softening length, ties it in a knot and chucks it into the small bin underneath the bedside table.

 “Cas,” Dean says with an incredulous laugh. “My, uh, panties…”

 Cas looks and also laughs, but with more regret and surprise than amusement. Dean’s panties with the black lace have been split right down the middle, now reduced to two bits of tattered pink satin.

 “Don't worry,” Cas says, pulling a handful of tissues from a helpful box on the bedside table. “With the prize money I’ll buy you a hundred more.”

Dean chokes. “That’s a bit excessive, don’t ya think, Cas?”

 Cas cleans himself and Dean up with a shake of his head. “No, I don’t think so. After all, we may rip up fifty or so of them in the end.”

 Dean shakes his head, laughing, tired, but sated and with a wide smile planted firmly on his face.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean says as he drifts to sleep.

 Cas snuggles into the covers, one arm going around Dean’s waist and replies, “I love you too.”

  

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you thought and don't forget to kudos, you lovely person, you.


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